


Stories of the Second Self: Bare Witness

by John_Steiner



Series: Alter Idem [118]
Category: National Guard - Fandom, Urban Fantasy - Fandom, social justice - Fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-10
Updated: 2020-02-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:02:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22641514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/John_Steiner/pseuds/John_Steiner
Summary: Jerrod continues to follow up on the anti-werewolf hate crime against his brother with help from Mark. However, Mark also involves a friend of his from high school, Miranda Imura. As a Fae elder and accomplished in magic, Miranda provides a way to see what Jerrod's brother, Michael saw the night he was attacked. Upset at resurfacing emotions, Jerrod also gains an insight into the spree of 'silverings' throughout Cincinnati.
Series: Alter Idem [118]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1618813





	Stories of the Second Self: Bare Witness

Going through the reports, Jerrod noticed in their writing a stunning lack of interest by the Silverton officers handling his little brother's murder case. The handful of Cincinnati officers compelled to do something weren't on the case, but were active in the Akron Community Coalition. They snuck copies of reports to various people, Jerrod included.

In his apartment front room, Jerrod had been reading while waiting for Mark, the werewolf who approached him about getting information regarding what happened to Michael in Silverton. Mark told Jerrod that his high school friend could help, but didn't say more.

A honk from outside drew Jerrod's attention, and he slipped all the papers back into the envelop. Going to his bedroom, he removed the HVAC vent to slip them inside. At this point, Jerrod trusted no one, wondering if he too might be targeted.

Getting his wallet, keys, and phone Jerrod went out into the mid-autumn chill without a jacket. Most werewolves didn't have to worry about cold unless it got to be around twenty below zero, and then Jerrod himself might wear a light slicker or other jacket at most.

He saw Mark in his car waiting and hurried over while sizing up his surroundings and taking a couple subtle whiffs. Then, Jerrod got in and Mark pulled out of the parkway into traffic.

"Who's this friend we're going to?" Jerrod wanted to know.

"Oh, ah, she's a Fae elder," Mark said, "Miranda. I think you've seen her before in the diner."

"You think she'll want to help out people like us?" Jerrod asked.

"I had her back in high school, and we're still good friends," Mark explained, "She stayed in the eastern side of Norwood, when most other Fae were moving out."

"I'll give her props for that," Jerrod said, "If you haven't seen anything small to think you can't trust her I'll go with it."

The grade of homes gradually improved, as Mark drove eastward, and then he came to one Jerrod would've thought was the home of an elderly couple with a gardening hobby.

Mark pulled up into the driveway and then set the brake and turned the car off. Jerrod got out before Mark could, and took in the surroundings like he did at his own place. Nothing stood out to cause alarm.

"Still that edgy, huh?" Mark observed.

"Combination of my active duty time and what's going around now," Jerrod admitted.

"Yet, you didn't bring those BodyGuard things," Mark noted.

"A Fae chick seeing two howler dudes at her door should be alarming enough for a lot of people," Jerrod said.

Mark tilted his head in concession to the thought, and the pair went up to the front door. It was Mark who knocked, and Jerrod heard hurried hoof steps inside working their way toward the front door.

"Hey," said a Fae girl with dark hair and ten-point antlers stood somewhat on the short side.

Jerrod noticed something in her face when she glanced at him, and he remarked on it, "I guess Mark told you?"

"Yeah," came her one-word reply.

"I'm Jerrod Connor," he introduced himself, and added, "You're Miranda Imura. I sometimes eat out at the diner you sing at, and overheard your conversations. The last couple of times I ate there was with Mike."

"It's so wrong what happened to him," Miranda said with sincere sympathy pouring out of her micro-expressions. "I wanna do whatever I can to help."

"Thank you," Jerrod accepted with a nod, and noticed her reaction.

The skin around Miranda's eyes reddened just enough for a werewolf to pick out, and knew she was honestly hurt by all the hate crimes happening. "Mark told me about this after you and he went to that community place. I've been looking into spells that might help figure out where Michael was when it happened."

"Yeah, okay," Jerrod replied a little dumbly, as Miranda invited them in.

"Make yourself at home," Miranda said, heading to her kitchen, "You guys want anything to eat or drink?"

"Nah, I'm good," Mark answered.

Jerrod felt his inner guardsman come back. "No thank you, ma'am."

"Mark told me you were a soldier," Miranda called back.

"Still am, actually," Jerrod clarified, "National Guard. Just we ain't got a lot to do for the last couple years beyond training and disaster relief."

"Gotta be glad for that," Miranda suggested.

"Yeah," Jerrod said, sizing up the spacious and pleasant upper middle class home interior, before he sat on the couch. "Nice place."

"Used to be my parents' house," Miranda revealed, "They moved across the river into Newport after the occupation lifted, and let me have the house for a couple hundred dollars."

"Damn," Jerrod muttered, again admiring what less than half his rent bought. "Fae really do have it better."

"Not that much better," Miranda replied.

"Didn't think your hearing's that good," Mark commented.

"I keep up spells for home security," Miranda explained.

"A Fae in the 'Wood," Jerrod remarked, using the street name for Norwood. "Guess that makes sense."

"Okay," Miranda said as she came back into the living room with a huge bowl and an armful of other things. "I don't have a physical thing to trace to your brother, so I had to try out something else. But you'll have to drink this to make it work."

"You're brewing up a potion for me to drink?" Jerrod asked.

"Me too," Miranda said, "It... it's hard to explain. I guess the best comparison is like a mind meld from that TV show?"

"Oh, yeah, I know what you're talking about," Jerrod recalled the sci-fi series.

Seeing the huge mixing bowl had Jerrod wondering. "How much we gotta drink of this stuff?"

"Not much, really," Miranda replied, "Just I don't know about getting the proportions right in a smaller batch. Haven't practiced it that much."

"All this and college too," Mark said.

"Actually, I've been doing some magic on the side to make extra money," Miranda explained, "That's why I'm at the university, to get a business degree and show the bank I'm worth the startup loan."

"Here I am just bustin' my ass doin' late night road work," Jerrod cracked, and then something occurred to him. "Do you know everything about our visit to the Akron Community Center?"

"Yes." Miranda leveled a steady gaze at Jerrod, while started flicking dashes of various ingredients into the big bowl. "If it was just werewolves, I wouldn't be doing this. I did a little poking around, you know, my way, and figured out it's a whole lot of people in Akron coming together. I like what they're about."

"Those two bags are just spices," Jerrod observed, on watching her put a pinch of each into the bowl. "Is this like selling Oregano as pot?"

"Don't patronize me," Miranda quipped, "My calculations are always accurate. I don't make mistakes when it comes to magic."

"Are there calculations in magic?" Mark wondered.

"There are," Miranda answered, and then poured in something that burned at Jerrod's nose, while she went on, "But really, it's about desire, intention, and devotion. The ingredients by themselves wouldn't do anything, but my belief in their combination is what's important. I got spells that don't need ingredients, but they're another style of magic entirely."

"Like schools of magic?" Jerrod asked.

"Sorta," Miranda said, and then reached out to Jerrod. "I need your hand."

"It's a blood thing," Jerrod surmised, "Alright. Shouldn't hurt for long."

"It's about sacrifice," Miranda corrected, "At least, that's how the New Druidic Order sees it, and because we have to reach up into your ancestry to descend back to your brother. That's the other thing."

"What?" Jerrod became wary.

"When you imbibe this you're going to see some weird shit," Miranda advised, "Just know that it's not an acid trip. You'll really see these things and so will I."

Jerrod's brows arched high, and then, just like that, he felt a prick at the tip of his ring finger. Miranda squeezed out a couple drops of blood into the bowl, and then got a wooden match.

"I've tried lighters," Miranda explained her choice of ignition. "But, there's something in druidic magic that rejects too much technology."

"You mean, other than high voltage?" Jerrod asked.

Miranda stopped and leaned forward. "You know about that?"

"The Akron Community Center worker told us," Mark illuminated for her.

"Hmm," Miranda seemed to accept, "I guess people would've figured it out eventually. Magic's powerful stuff, but it's also fragile."

Then, Miranda started singing as she lowered the match. Jerrod couldn't understand the words, but figured mystery was another ingredient. As Miranda's voice hit higher notes the flames in the bowl grew, and when she came to lulls in the lyrics the fire likewise simmered down. Jerrod was instantly reminded of the fire that his team member, Leonard was hit with. The flames here seemed a friendlier shade of blue, though Jerrod's memory of the angry cussing fire came alive.

The song went on for nine minutes, while Miranda stirred the concoction, and Jerrod looking into the bowl watched the substances change before his eyes, and not just as if they were being cooked. Much of it then transformed into smoke, which prompted Mark to open a door. However, Miranda stayed him, and then waved the cloudy emissions around her head. Smoke closest to her antlers glowed, as though lit from behind, but her rack appeared no different.

When it was done, Jerrod could again see clearly into the bowl. Little was left, but it was all a purple liquid. Miranda tipped the bowl and carefully poured half the contents into a tiny aged bottle of brown glass, and the other half into another just like it.

She handed one bottle to Jerrod. "It doesn't seem like much, but the rest is floating around us now. The smoke will be drawn to whoever drinks it."

Jerrod looked at the bottle's yellowed label, curling up at the edges, and the letters long worn away, and then put the top to his lips. "Here goes."

Before he even swallowed, his whole mouth tingled, and felt like fizzing bubbled were passing through the roof of his mouth straight into his head. Jerrod felt his eyes open wide, but everything in the room disappeared other than Miranda. It was then he noticed her antlers now had a golden glow.

"We're in the ethereal world now," Miranda advised him, herself seeming to handle the side effects with familiarity. "I'm going to guide you here."

With that, she reached out to take his hand, while her other rose up. She looked to an exposed sky, as though the house were gone, and with her Jerrod felt catapulted upward.

"The past isn't behind us," Miranda explained, her eyes casting heavenward. "It's always and ever above us."

Stars of the sky now were level with where Jerrod hovered with Miranda. Then, they gathered close, as though will-o-the-wisps.

"These aren't stars," Jerrod realized.

"They're your ancestors," Miranda revealed, "Or whatever essence passes for ancestors. It's hard to explain, but what we think of as spirit or soul is all wrong, and yet we can link to our lineage. The people they were are gone, but their lessons and experience linger here."

Lights hovered to where Jerrod's hand would reach out, even though he hadn't yet raised his hand. The twinkling points of light seemed to see his intention and went to where Jerrod would try to grasp them. The cluster of lights warmed his hand, but ignited euphoria in his mind.

Landscapes of ages passed transformed before his eyes and, at one point, an ocean moved underneath him and Miranda.

"This is when your people first came to America," Miranda explained, "You're seeing their voyages from different years all at once. Okay, here we are."

Jerrod didn't know how he knew, but he realized he stood in Ireland surrounded by humans who were his ancestral clan. The emerald green grass brushed against his feet, as though Jerrod wore no shoes.

"Why Ireland?" Jerrod pondered, "Some of my family tree goes back to other countries."

Miranda shook her head with uncertainty. "It must be traits you and your brother have that are decidedly Irish. Some say this is representative of DNA ties passed down your family."

An old woman stepped between Jerrod and Miranda. Her eyes had the beginnings of cataracts, but she saw into Jerrod deep enough. She reached out a craggy hand to place a palm against his forehead, and she spoke, "We take you to Michael."

Just like that, Jerrod felt pulled back down. Looking, he couldn't see where he was falling, but the sensation was more intense than his airdrops out the back of cargo planes during the occupation days.

Before he realized it, Jerrod was standing in the middle of a street. He recognized it was in Silverton, but didn't know exactly where. Looking down at himself, he saw Michael's body and hands.

"Fuckin' howler mongrel," shouted voices from behind.

It was Mike's impulse to turn around to see one Luc Fae, but several humans and a couple angels with them. Breaking into a run, Mike's fear flooded Jerrod. He sensed that Mike had been running all night, and that Silverton wasn't where the chase had started.

Intersection after intersection, another car would appear, cutting Mike off from the relative safety of Norwood or roads back out of the city. The two angels took to the air to keep eyes on Mike's route.

"What are you experiencing through your brother?" Miranda's disembodied voice inquired.

"He's been chased all night," Jerrod replied, then noticed Mike stopping to listen and remarked on that. "Can he hear me?"

"Jerrod?" Mike's desperation answered that. "You there?"

"Get out of Silverton!" Jerrod pleaded.

"I can't, Jerrod," Mike said, "I already went there to get away from them. Can't change the past."

"Who's after you, Mike?" Jerrod called out, feeling his own cheeks wetting. "I need to know."

"It's not just who," Mike answered with a serenity under his surface panic. "They got something lumbering around out there. I never seen it, but it stinks like an armpit and grumbles a lot."

"Where did this start?" Jerrod demanded.

"I was just chillin' in this park with a girl," Mike answered, his head whipping side-to-side for another escape route. "I had her run off and hide while I led these fuckers off from her. I don't know where she went, but they all came after me, so I'm guessing she made it.

"Sorry bro," Mike added, causing Jerrod's heart to wrench, as Mike finished his apology, "I really tried to stay out of trouble. These guys just want me dead. Maybe because my end is in Silverton they'll get caught. Don't tell Mom, Dad, or Laura you connected to me like this. It'll be like they lost me all over again. Promise me."

"I promise," a weeping Jerrod swore, while watching Mike run to the fast food joint. "I can't take this, Mike!"

"Jerrod, I'll lead you back," Miranda said, her own voice cracking.

Next, Jerrod was ripped skyward, briefly seeing centuries old Ireland, and then felt a mental whiplash back down to his own self. When his head cleared, Jerrod against laid eyes on Miranda's living room, with the Fae woman cradling his shoulders, as he leaned into her crying for Michael all over again.


End file.
